The din of battle at the port was fading, like a storm reluctantly retreating into the distance. Shouts and clashing steel had given way to ragged footsteps and the groans of the wounded. The few remaining Black Shark Pirates staggered away in disarray, leaving blood smeared on the dock's planks. Here and there, disheveled Marine soldiers tried to collect themselves, some limping toward the edge of the harbor, others abandoning their weapons altogether.
The air hung heavy with the iron tang of blood and the acrid stench of gunpowder. Smoke curled lazily into the sky, dispersing into the salty breeze that carried the faint creak of moored ships.
In the middle of this battered scene, a pirate—reckless enough to try one last strike—lunged at a tall, broad-shouldered man with a wild grin. The man didn't even flinch.
Gol D. Roger pivoted, booted foot driving squarely into the attacker's chest. The poor fool flew backward, landing in a heap among shattered crates. Roger flicked his sword to the side, droplets of blood arcing away to stain the dock. His teeth flashed in the sunlight—white, bold, and utterly unbothered by the carnage around him.
"Kuhahaha!" His voice carried like a crack of thunder. "This isn't nearly fun enough, Rayleigh!"
A few paces away, Silvers Rayleigh, calm as ever, slid his blade into its scabbard with a clean click. His glasses caught a glint of light as he surveyed the wreckage, the bodies, and the splintered remains of the pier. His gaze finally came to rest on a figure slumped against the far wall—a young man unconscious, his clothes torn and crusted with dried blood.
"You want to pick someone up?" Rayleigh asked mildly, though his tone carried a trace of amusement.
"Kuhahaha! This kid is amazing!" Roger's eyes lit up with the kind of excitement most men reserved for buried treasure. He strode over without hesitation, crouched, and with one large hand hoisted the youth off the ground as though he weighed no more than a sack of rice.
"That Fruit ability of his—and that desperate, all-or-nothing way he fights—" Roger's grin widened. "They suit my taste perfectly!"
Rayleigh pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing as though this were a conversation they'd had a hundred times. He knew that look in his captain's eye far too well. When Roger decided on something—or someone—not even a dozen Sea Kings could drag him away from it.
After all, wasn't that exactly how Roger had pulled Rayleigh aboard? One conversation. One bold invitation. And suddenly, Rayleigh's ship, crew, and old life had been left behind in the harbor.
"Nigero," Rayleigh said at last, glancing toward the open sea. "Marine reinforcements will be here soon. We shouldn't linger."
Roger adjusted the unconscious boy over his shoulder, barked a quick laugh, and called, "Right behind you!"
In one smooth motion, the pair leapt from the dock onto a modest sailboat tied at the far edge of the pier. The vessel wasn't much—its hull was weathered and its rigging frayed—but it was seaworthy enough for an escape. Compared to the Black Shark Pirates' own rust-bucket, this was practically luxury.
---
Kael woke to the steady, unfamiliar sway of a ship cutting through gentle waves.
For a moment, he didn't know where he was. His first sensation was the sharp sting of sunlight streaming through a small porthole, forcing him to squint. Then came the awareness of pain—a deep, throbbing ache along his ribs that made him suck in a sharp breath.
"Hhh… Hiss…" He pressed a palm to his side. "I… survived?"
The cabin around him was small, but clean and orderly. The faint smell of salt and wood polish filled the air. He lay on a simple hammock strung in one corner, a thin blanket half-slipped from his legs. Opposite him, a wooden barrel sat beside a rack of coiled rope and a small crate stamped with an unfamiliar merchant seal.
"Yo, you're awake, kid!"
The booming, cheerful voice came from above his head. Kael jerked his gaze upward—and nearly flinched.
Leaning forward on the barrel, elbows on knees, was a man with a mane of dark hair and an enormous grin. His teeth gleamed like a predator's, but the warmth in his expression was unmistakable. In his right hand, he held a bone stripped nearly clean of meat, gnawing the last stubborn scraps as though the battle at the harbor had been nothing more than a morning warm-up.
It was Gol D. Roger—though Kael only knew him from whispered tales and warnings muttered in taverns.
"Did you… save me?" Kael managed, struggling to prop himself up.
"Kuhahaha! Save you? Think nothing of it!" Roger waved dismissively, as if hauling unconscious strangers from battlefields was something he did every Tuesday. "Name's Gol D. Roger."
He jabbed the meat bone toward Kael's bandaged ribs. "Your injury's already been patched up—Rayleigh handled that. You, kid… yabai na. You took on an entire ship of pirates and nearly wiped them out. What's that Fruit ability of yours? It's got some kick—can it shatter things?"
Kael froze under Roger's piercing gaze. There was no malice in it, but there was nowhere to hide either. Those eyes seemed to peel away every excuse and half-truth before they could form.
"…Kael. Aaron Kael," he said at last. "Paramecia-type—Boba Fruit." He forced his voice steady, though his pulse thundered in his ears.
"Paramecia, eh?" Roger's brows rose in surprise before his grin returned, sharper and more intrigued. "Sugoi! Strength like that, and guts to match, at your age? Very good. Very good."
With a flick of his wrist, Roger tossed the stripped bone into a bucket, clapped his calloused hands, and leaned forward, his energy like a wave about to crash.
"Little Kael, I've taken a liking to you!" His grin was infectious, his voice alive with conviction. "Ever thought about sailing with us? Seeing what this great sea really has to offer?"
He extended his hand—broad, powerful, scarred from years of sword work. The invitation felt less like a question and more like the opening of a door that led to the rest of the world.
---
Kael's heart hammered.
Fake succubus: long legs, high heels, a teasing smile.
Real succubus: Comrade, will you change the world with me?
Damn. This was the legendary Succubus Roger—no one could resist that kind of pull.
Kael met Roger's gaze. In those eyes, there was no judgment, only raw admiration and a dream big enough to swallow the horizon. Something in Kael's chest ignited, a surge of hot, unshakable resolve that blotted out even the pain in his ribs.
Slowly, Kael pushed himself upright, each movement stabbing through his side. He didn't care.
"I…" His voice trembled, but his words were steady. "I yearn for freedom. I want to see a broader world. I want the power to make my dreams real. If… if I can sail with you…"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to. The unspoken was written in every line of his posture.
Roger's smile blazed brighter, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
At the door, Rayleigh paused mid-motion as he cleaned his sword. His eyes flicked from Kael to Roger. The faintest nod passed between them.
"Kuhahahahahahaha!" Roger's laughter exploded in the small cabin, joyous and booming. He clasped Kael's hand in both of his own, the grip nearly crushing.
"Good! Well said! From today, Kael is the third member of the Roger Pirates!"
"Third?" Kael blinked.
"That's right!" Roger thumped his chest, then pointed over his shoulder. "Me—Captain Gol D. Roger! That guy with the glasses—First Mate Silvers Rayleigh! And you. Makes three."
For a moment, Kael just stared. The man before him—future Pirate King—was grinning like a boy who'd found a new toy, radiating a joy that was impossible not to feel.
So this was Gol D. Roger. No pretentious air of mystery, no forced kingly bearing. Just unshakable confidence, boundless ambition, and a presence that drew people in like the tide. He was a sun around which others naturally revolved, their own flames burning brighter in his light.
"Welcome aboard, Kael," Rayleigh said, stepping forward at last. His smile was small, but warmer than before. The edge of scrutiny was gone.
Kael bowed his head slightly. "Please guide me well, Captain Roger. Mr. Rayleigh."
In that moment, with the ship rocking gently beneath them and the endless sea waiting beyond the hull, Kael knew:
A legend was setting sail. And he was aboard.
Ãdvåñçé 60 çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)
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